


Unravelling

by Evaldrynn



Series: In Her Loving Memory [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fǫruneyti Alternate Universe, Multific, Part five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 15:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12797586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evaldrynn/pseuds/Evaldrynn
Summary: Warning for dubious consent.





	1. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for dubious consent.

A sudden but gentle grip on her shoulder. “There you are, I have been looking everywhere for y-” 

Loki blinked, retracted his hand, and set a step back. “Apologies, I must have confused you with someone else.” 

Still, his eyes lingered, searched in confusion, until they landed on the bite mark on her neck – and she could see the jealousy flash through the blues and greens before twice the amount of confusion returned. Jealous over a mark he left himself; yet the irony was not nearly enough to make her laugh. Instead, it seemed to burn the heart out of her. 

“Apologies accepted, my prince.” 

His eyes widened ever so slightly and she wanted to slap herself in the face. She needed to stop calling him that, should address him with his formal title like every normal servant would. Before he could fully gather his composure she curtsied and strode off, slow enough to make it seem casual yet fast enough to get away in time. She kept slipping up like this, couldn't keep the longing and fondness from the smiles she accidentally gave him whenever he met her gaze and couldn't keep from glancing back over her shoulder, as if every time she saw him could be the last. 

But tonight was the masquerade, and she was certain she would spot him there. She almost hated how eagerly she had accepted the invitation. All workers of higher class than the maids and servants were allowed to attend and she had felt so relieved at getting another chance to see him – even though she knew she shouldn't. She liked to believe he was not the only reason she was going; the music drowned out the shallowest worries and the food was better than anything she could make herself, but she knew she was lying. Yet it was not her fault he kept on coming after her, right? It was not wrong of her to want to see him, right? Only a glimpse was enough. A smile, a grin, a smirk, anything she could get; anything that would convince her that he was doing all right. That he was better off not remembering her. 

She could hide behind her mask tonight – a second one, one that couldn't waver whenever their gazes locked for a fraction of a second. She couldn't wear one of the dresses he had given her – she should probably have gotten rid of them in the first place – but she had anticipated it, had saved her money to buy one of her own. One that hid the bruises on her chest. It wasn't of such fine quality or rich embroidery, nor was it a beautiful shade of green, but it was pretty nonetheless. It wouldn't draw any attention. 

She wondered which animals the others had picked. Dagny went as a doe, she remembered, and Baerne had chosen a dog – but his mask could have alluded to anything furry, really.  
With a hesitant swing she opened her closet and took the mask from the shelf. Black, covered in tiny scales of which some contained specks of dulled gold. She would be a dragon tonight. More irony, even in her own eyes; dressing up as the creature she hated with all her heart. 

It was the cause of everything. 

It had gotten her parents killed, her friends, had taken away her lover; simply by existing. And yet she couldn't do anything about it. She would never be able to get rid of her dragon descent. 

The blood in her veins felt tainted and yet here she stood, holding a mask of her own scales – the old and battered ones, the ones that had gotten loose or fallen off – with the intent of showing it to everyone at the party. No one would get the bitterness behind the statement of course; many wouldn't even think of a dragon as a possibility at all. And even if they did, it would mean nothing to them.

And so she unfolded the dress and changed, braided her hair, tied the ribbon of the mask into a neat bow at the back of her head, painted patches of small scales on her arms, and stepped into the slippers she kept for occasions such as these. Her hands were shaking.  
She shouldn't go, she could still take off the dress, throw the mask away and lock herself in the conservatory to get back to work – but her feet carried her to the door before she could resist, and she knew she was going to regret this. 

 

With hall after golden hall her heart began beating quicker. She shouldn't do this, she really shouldn't. Did she even truly want to get over him or did she simply like to make herself suffer?

But she entered the ballroom, and there was no turning back. 

For a moment Loki was forgotten, however, as the extravagance of the party made her eyes grow wide. Not only was there a massive block of ice cut into a scene of animals dancing, the food, too, had been shaped like the fauna of the nine realms. Some attendees seemed to have spent half their fortunes on their costumes; glittering and shimmering in the light of the chandeliers, leather and ivory coming together in masterly crafted outfits, fake wings attached to shoulders, and even tails that swung with every step they took. All of them were too elegant and beautiful to be considered beastly. 

Then she spotted Dagny and her brother, and not a second later they caught sight of her was well; waving her over with surprised and delighted smiles. 

“We weren't sure whether you were going to come or not! I'm glad you don't deny yourself every type of fun.” Dagny hugged her, careful not to smudge her paint. The chosen animal fit her well; with her brown hair and doe eyes, and the paint was the finishing touch to her outfit. She scanned her friend in turn and frowned a bit. “A lizard?” 

“Dragon, but you were close.” 

“Oh! It's not the creature I expected, but I can definitely see why you chose it.” 

She frowned slightly, a smile that was not without an accompanying feeling of anxiety curling on her lips. “You can?” 

Dagny's eyes turned soft. “You are strong, just like a dragon. You survive even in the harshest conditions.” 

She knew the meaning behind her words and the anxiety faded, until only an aching sadness was left within her smile. Her voice was soft when she replied. 

“Is he here?” 

Brant nodded. His outfit resembled that of a canyon bear, the most protective species of bear in all of the realm. Dark fur covered his mask, lined his shoulders, wrists, and boots, and she knew he was going to mention how hot it was before an hour had passed. The thought took some of the sadness away.

“He has been for a while now, scanning the crowd like he's searching. Has he approached you again today?” 

She let out a sigh, the regret already settling. “He thought he recognised me earlier this evening.” 

“And you made him forget only yesterday... He has never come back so soon. Is your magic running low?” Dagny studied her friend's face with worry in her eyes.

“Usually it takes him a few days or even a week or so, right?” Brant glanced around, keeping guard as the three of you conversed. 

It was indeed very soon, but it shouldn't even be happening in the first place. Was it her magic? Was it weakening because of the constant emotional turmoil, or was she just running low? She really should put more effort into avoiding him then. It would be dangerous to let herself run out of magical energy. 

“Yeah. I'm... I'm not sure, perhaps it's just an anomaly.” 

“Be careful, okay?” The worry now sounded through in her melodious voice. 

“I will.” 

Because she didn't want to lose her life, and neither did they. 

 

The conversation continued in a more pleasant direction, and even though she could never fully be at ease it distracted her enough for her to truly enjoy herself for a while. The food was heavenly, the honey mead just what she needed, and under the cheering of her friends and her colleagues she exceeded the limit of what she had previously allowed herself to take. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. The party was suddenly so much more enjoyable, the music igniting the urge to dance within her bones and her heart humming as she downed another cup. 

 

She completely missed the look of terror on Dagny's face when she took the hand of a man who had asked her to dance, and before she knew it she was holding the end of a ribbon and the music picked up its speed. She had heard of it – the spider dance, her hazy mind remembered – and she thought it had come with a warning; but from who and what it entailed were out of her reach. The only thing that rang clear inside her mind was: don't get caught. 

She wasn't planning on losing and so, as best as her inebriated body could, she twisted and turned and ducked and jumped to keep the ribbon from wrapping around her. The people around her yelled and cheered whenever she managed to get out of a tight spot and she loved it, loved how the people liked her, clapped for her. She decided to give them a show while she was at it.  
On the beat of the music she began to sway her hips and truly dance instead of merely trying to escape, not losing sight of the ribbon but making it seem as if it was not even a challenge. A grin tugged her lips up and she shot a daring glance at the man on the other end of the ribbon.  
But she wasn't the only one grinning. As her eyes moved up to his mask, covered in the feathers of a raven, and the green-blue eyes behind them which sparkled with amusement, she suddenly felt as if the ground disappeared beneath her feet. 

Loki. 

He used her momentary shock to his advantage and tugged, causing her to lose her rhythm and forcing her to set a step forward – towards him. She quickly recovered, however; and her determination returned twofold. It wouldn't be long before the song would end. Her heart was beating fast, adrenaline surging through her veins, and she laughed – this was the most fun she had had in weeks. 

She missed how his eyes grew a bit wider, or how they lingered on her hips when she began to move them to the music again; but when their gazes met a pleasurable shiver ran down her spine. It almost made her want to get caught.  
Still, she kept dancing, kept evading the ribbon, and it seemed like she would win. But she should have known it had been a pre-determined battle from the very beginning. 

With one last forceful tug she nearly lost her footing, he wrapped the ribbon around her, and at the very last second pulled her into his arms. 

The music ended, and she had lost. 

She melted into his embrace and rested her temple against his chest, eyes closed as she tried to catch her breath again. The people were cheering and clapping, and even though it was no longer for her, she was content. 

But even with the alcohol in her system she knew this was inappropriate and so stepped back, untangled herself from the long, thin strip of silken fabric, and shot the prince a last smile – unable to keep the playful sparkle from entering her eyes. 

“It was an honour to dance with you, my prince.”

Ah no, she shouldn't have said 'my prince', should she? Oh well, too late now! With a giggle she turned and left him to go back to her friends, who looked just as horrified as before. She waved both their silent and spoken concerns away without truly paying attention to them and drank more than enough mead to make up for what she had just danced off; and then some more. 

 

The night passed quickly, and she was glad her high tolerance to alcohol kept her from passing out. Dagny and Brant had long since stopped trying to convince her to slow down on the drinking and had instead joined in; within an hour laughing just as loud and dancing just as much.  
She danced with at least six different animals, some of them only vague memories, but the raven came by at least three times more before someone else whisked her away again. No more spider dances, though. The first couple of times she was 'sober' enough to remember the paces to some of the more formal dances, and after that the attendees were drunk enough themselves to have stopped caring about sticking to a certain type. From then on it was freestyle dancing.

Dagny tried showing her the moves the women from her city used at fests and celebrations, and even though she integrated a few into her dancing, her main guide was still her body itself. The music was enough for her to start moving on her own, and she didn't care whether it looked good or not. 

Time was but a concept. The only thing that gave any kind of indication of it was how the crowd slowly grew thinner and thinner and how the moon rose so high and far that the windows could no longer keep it framed. Yet none of them stopped dancing, laughing, or drinking; even when they were amongst the last to stay. As long as the music continued they were determined to make the most of it. 

Another few times she danced with strangers, or perhaps people she knew, but she had stopped truly looking and mostly danced with her eyes half-lidded or even fully closed.  
Yet as a man was grinding against her she suddenly felt herself being pulled away – her back hitting a familiar chest, her heart fluttering in response, and the feeling only intensifying when she turned around and saw the jealousy in the eyes of the raven-masked prince. With a smile she simply let the music move her again. A faint voice in the back of her head told her she was not supposed to do this when she lay her hand on his chest and added some flirtatiousness to her moves; sometimes dancing at a respectable distance and other times dancing so close she could brush her hands over his thighs and hips. She knew no shame. Or rather, her drunken self knew no shame.  
She stepped close again and slid her hand up his chest, over the soft fabric of his no doubt expensive tunic, yet before it found his neck he caught her wrist in a prison of slender fingers and pulled her flush against him, his lips ghosting over her ear as he spoke in a low purr.

“Follow me.” 

And before she could respond he dragged her along to the door and into the hall. 

“Where'r we going?”

He turned a corner and in a flash pushed her against the wall, trapping her between the gold and his body. His lips crashed onto hers and forced them open, his taste drugging her and erasing whatever tiny bit of clear thinking had been left; she needed him closer, needed him everywhere, and with desperate and greedy movements she slid her hands over his back and his rear. He pulled her thigh up to his hip and grinded his crotch over hers, but the black fabric of her dress was a hindrance, and the growl he let out was one full of lustful frustration. She wanted it gone, too.  
He retracted his hand and flicked it to the side, and gravity made her stomach sink before her back landed on the sheets. Within a few hurried and inelegant moments their clothes and masks were off and thrown to the side, neither caring where it all ended up, before his mouth closed over hers again and he swallowed her moans as his hand found the sensitive nub at the apex of her thighs. 

It was like a fever dream, colours bursting behind her eyes when his tongue found the wetness between her legs, and the alcohol in her heated blood kept her from withholding her moans and cries. She knew nothing else but him as he brought her to her release with his mouth alone, the way he kissed his way back up to her breasts only vaguely registering in the back of her head – until he stopped.  
She opened her eyes and looked at him, only to see the worry in his. She didn't understand. Was something wrong? But when he lay his cool fingers over the discoloured skin of her collarbones and the realisation dawned on her she averted her gaze. She just wanted to have fun, she didn't want to think about the sad stuff right now. 

“Who did this?” 

“I did.” She hadn't wanted to answer but alas, her lungs had been faster. 

She glanced back at his face and saw that sadness had mixed with the worry, before he bent down and placed a soft kiss on the center of the bruises. Even if she had not been drunk she would not have been able to stop herself from smiling lovingly at him; and his eyes darkened. He claimed her lips again, lustful, ravenous, desperate, his hand grabbing hold of her hip before sliding lower and pulling her knee up once more. She took the hint and wrapped her legs around his waist. 

“Fuck me, Loki,” she breathed against his lips, and he growled in response. 

He grabbed his cock and rubbed it over her folds, coated it in her juices before sliding his tip to her entrance, and rested his forehead against hers. 

“Are you sure?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” she moaned, again and again, her head back against the sheets in anticipation. “Yes, Loki; yes. _Fuck me_.” 

And he could no longer hold back. His loud, rugged moan mingled with hers as he sheathed himself inside of her, deeper and deeper, until his tip pressed against her cervix and she cried out again. She felt her mind lose grasp on reality as he began fucking her, slow at first then increasing his pace, and his groans and gasps only hurried her towards her second climax. Her fingers curled into fists around the sheets and she yelled his name, spine locking into an arch and trembling when his lips closed around a nipple, his pace only increasing. He moaned at how her walls clenched around him and pulled her close, needed more of her. Her pants, her voice, her smell, her soft, warm skin.  
She wrapped her arms around him and held onto him as if he was the only thing keeping her alive, loving all of him. His pants, his voice, his smell, his soft, cool skin. 

His name kept falling from her lips and it sent him into a frenzy, sent him pounding into her without restraint until he felt himself getting close; and he began attacking her clit to get her at the same point again. He kept his gaze focused on the expression on her face – until suddenly she tightened around him again and his eyes fell shut, his seed spilling in thick ribbons deep inside of her. 

A few more thrusts before he pulled out and lowered himself beside her, chest heaving as his lungs tried to catch up.  
They lay like that for a while. 

Then, slowly, bliss and alcohol still humming inside her veins, she turned on her side and nestled against him, her hand on his chest. And as if that hadn't been enough to surprise him, she pressed a loving kiss to his skin and whispered:

“Y'need to stop falling in love with me. It hurts. Now you've got to forget.”

Yet when he finally recovered from his confusion and asked what she meant her breathing had already evened out and her eyes were closed in a peaceful expression. Fast asleep, gone to the world of dreams. 

He didn't think he could follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the dubcon, but explanations will come in the future.
> 
> Why suddenly a multichapter fic, I hear you ask? You'll see when the other chapters are uploaded.  
> Want to speed up the uploading schedule? Keep an eye on the [Fǫruneyti Tumblr](https://foruneyti.tumblr.com/)!


	2. 3

He was surprised to find himself waking, as it meant he must have fallen asleep; but it wasn't the only thing that puzzled him.  
One: if he had drifted off but had not awakened during the night, then had he not had nightmares?  
Two: what had her words meant?  
And three: 

Why was she still in his bed, naked, with her side pressed against him and a serene look on her face?

Should she not have regretted her mistake of sleeping with him and have rushed out while he had been unconscious? Or had the alcohol prevented her from awakening sooner? He dreaded the moment she would open her eyes and realise what she had done in her drunken state, and regret washed over him with the force of a tidal wave.  
He had taken advantage of her.  
Why had he lost control all of a sudden? Why had he desired her so strongly? He did not even know her name! This wasn't like him, taking just anyone to his chambers and fucking her so hard it left bruises the size of fingertips on her hips. He brushed his hand over them, the regret settling deeper, before his eyes traveled up to her chest and the discolouration that had already been there. 

_”Who did this?”_

_”I did.”_

But why? He could see the shapes of fingernails, crescent moons of dark purples and blues, and knew it couldn't have been an itch. Was it an unconventional way of self-harming, then? That didn't seem right. 

She hummed softly, slowly turned on her side, and nuzzled into his chest. 

“G'morning.” 

Her breath reeked of the honeymead but the look in her half-lidded eyes was so full of love that anything unpleasant was instantly forgotten. How could she love him? Did he read it wrong? Was it merely a combination of drunk and sleepy? But she pressed a kiss to the dip between his collarbones and he froze, a part of him hurriedly trying to figure out what was going on as another part focused on not getting aroused. Neither was very successful. 

“I apologise for last night.” He scanned her eyes for fear, for regret, but he only saw the warmth. 

“Why?” 

He raised his brows. “You were drunk, while I was not. I... I used you in your disadvantaged state to cater to my own needs.” 

She giggled and his heart missed a beat, just like it had done when she had laughed during their dance. How could something so banal be so enchanting? 

“You weren't the only one having a good time, you know. And besides, I wasn't drunk enough to forget it all, now, was I? No need to apologise.” 

He didn't know how to respond to that and instead studied her, tried not to focus on how her arm gently slid around him in a semi-embrace. It felt... familiar, somehow; as if he had missed this. But that was impossible: he had never had a lover before, let alone one that dared to stay the night and wake up beside him – if his nightmares didn't awake her sooner. But she, a woman who he had only seen twice, acted like this was exactly where she wanted to be. Surely it couldn't just be the alcohol? He hoped it couldn't.  
And his heart did all kinds of strange things and he didn't know what to do or how to feel. Should he send her away and apologise again? He had to admit that her skin against his was more than welcome, and he realised that the affection in her eyes and touch was something he craved more than anything else. Was it selfish of him to let her stay? He didn't know. He didn't really want to know. 

So he did not move a muscle and did not speak a word, letting her hold him tight and press herself against him while he tried to ignore the urge to kiss her. 

 

She had fallen asleep again.

He had missed breakfast. 

Not that he cared; if anything he would rather not see them at all. The entire arranged marriage thing made his blood boil, and even though he knew his reaction was irrational he couldn't seem to stop the rage from expanding whenever he saw Odin; it took him every bit of restraint to keep from getting into verbal fights whenever the two of them were in the same room. Fighting with the All-father was never a fruitful affair, but oh did he want to show that old tyrant exactly what he thought.  
He had heard enough about Ylva to know she was just hungry for power and wealth, and though she may be beautiful according to the tales, he knew he could never love her. 

But the woman lying next to him... She, he knew, she he could fall in love with. 

He didn't know why he was so convinced but every fibre of his being seemed to scream it at him. Was it her physique? Even with her enrapturing eyes closed, her hair a mess, and her mouth open to let through the alcohol-ridden breath; and even with large bruises on her chest and bags beneath her eyes, she was beautiful. He wondered if he would find her beautiful no matter what.  
Or perhaps it was the air of mystery around her? He had thought to recognise her and the words proclaiming that he had been looking for her had fallen from his lips, yet he had not been looking for anyone at all. And the look in her eyes when their gazes had met... It was as if she had known him for longer. After he had caught her with the ribbon she had leaned against his chest and sighed with a smile, as if she was content to be in his arms. Any woman would have been afraid, or at least flustered or tense – even when drunk. But she...

_”Y'need to stop falling in love with me. It hurts.”_

His eyebrows pinched together. There was so much about those two sentences that did not seem to make sense, yet something told him that it was not merely drunk muttering. How did she know he had been falling for her, even though the option of an inebriated one-night stand was the more logical explanation for his behaviour? And the way she had said it, the tone to her voice and the words she had chosen, it had sounded like she meant he had fallen in love with her _before_ ; not that he should keep his feelings from growing this one time. And why would it hurt?  
He glanced down again, but her chest was pressed against his and obscured by her head as she still kept tight hold of him. Those bruises he had seen, the ones she had caused; were those related to what she had said to him?

 _”Now you've got to forget.”_

No matter which path his thoughts took he could not make sense of it. Forget what? His growing feelings? Their sexual encounter? Her words? Something else?  
Pain shot through his mind. His headaches had been getting more frequent, more intense, just like the pressure on his chest. Full hours and whole days missed from his memory. At first he had thought it to be a side-effect of his head injury, as he barely remembered what had happened after; but that had happened many months ago. How could it still not have gotten better? Chronic amnesia? It wasn't unlikely, yet his skull had endured worse blows with less negative results. 

But now, now he had begun to wonder. Did she have something to do with his loss of memory? Is that what she meant by 'forgetting'? Did she and everything about her feel so familiar, because she was? 

Yet it was as if his entire being refused to mistrust her.  
He couldn't just ask her about these things, of course; because if she turned out to be the one that had been erasing his memories then him finding out about it would be a threat, and she would no doubt take immediate action to prevent him from discovering whatever she was trying to hide. 

His heart stung a bit. If he had fallen in love with her before, then why had she simply not rejected his feelings? He knew he could be persistent, but he would respect her wishes – especially if he had been truly in love with her – and would take his distance, no matter how it may hurt him. He would have done that for her.  
But she seemed to hold at least some degree of feelings for him or she would not have looked at him like that, would not have kissed him or held onto him like he was her lifeline. So why? Why would she want to make him forget?

As he knew he would not get his answers very soon he directed his thoughts into a different direction, one that, in the end, was even more depressing. Because he could not imagine her loving him; and if it turned out she _had_ , then he had been robbed of something he craved so deeply. Had she destroyed those memories, if they existed? His chest contracted almost violently. Surely it wasn't possible that he himself had chosen that fate? He would never give up on those kinds of memories, or let them be taken from him, right?  
He might be better off not knowing.

But then his eyes fell back on her sweet face, his skin tingling under her touch, and it felt like his soul itself was reaching out for her. He wanted to love her, and he wanted her to love him in return. If there had been something between them he wanted to remember. He wanted it back, wanted it to continue. 

He brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead. Oh how he wanted to kiss her, to tangle their legs together and to bury his face in the crook of her neck. Never had he desired something so strongly, or someone. 

He knew he would have to find out about her secret soon – there were only two weeks left before he would leave for Yllgard and the wench that awaited him there. Did his parents know about her? Perhaps he could ask mother-

She yawned softly, before letting out a groan that told him exactly how hungover she was going to be. Very, _very_ hungover. 

“Let's get you to the bathroom, shall we?”

He smiled at how she groaned again and tightened her grip on him. He was going to miss her touch.  
After a bit of a struggle he managed to slip from her embrace, allowing him to get out of the bed, walk around it, scoop her naked body up in is arms, and carry her to the adjoining room. Perhaps cleaning her would be a civil thing to do; the evidence of their intimacy last night still coated the inside of her thighs and the cool water would do her good – though, now he thought about it, maybe she preferred he warmed it up for her.  
He stepped over the rim of the large basin and moved down the two steps to the bottom, before he slowly lowered the both of them partially below the surface of the water. He knelt and pulled her into his lap, letting her back rest against his chest so he had both hands free to work with. 

“Will you allow me to wash you, my lady?” 

She gave an affirmative hum and so he dripped liquid soap on her exposed shoulders before slowly rubbing it into her skin. She melted against him, content sighs the only sounds she made, and a kind of serenity settled in his heart that once again felt foreign yet familiar; that deep love only blossoming further when he massaged her scalp and let his fingers slide through the wet strands of her dark hair. Still he was perplexed by his own feelings. How could he have come to care so greatly for a mere worker of the palace? And even without his memories, even when vast planes of his mind seemed to consist of nothingness where there had once been something, he still fell for her. 

When he had rinsed the soap from her hair he retracted his hands and settled them on her hips as if that was the default place to leave them; his fingertips softly tracing the marks he had left the night before. 

“You'll have to wash the rest yourself.” 

“Why can't you do it?” She leaned back against him and placed a teasing kiss to his jaw. There was no doubt about the alcohol still being in her blood.

“I have gone much too far already; I will not take advantage of you more than I already have. When your mind is clear again I hope you see how sorry I am -” but he fell silent when her hands took gentle hold of his and guided them to her belly. 

“Even though I was drunk that doesn't mean I can't make my own decisions.” 

He held his hands on her stomach, not allowing her to guide either of them lower. “You are still drunk, my lady; and that is exactly what it means. You will realise that yourself when you sober up.” 

“There is no shame in being intimate with the man I love.” 

His poor heart skipped a couple of beats and his stomach made the strangest movements. He had had his suspicions about her feelings towards him, but hearing her say it out loud...  
_You love me_ , he wanted to ask her; wanting to hear those words from her lips again and again, even though he knew the answer. But he shouldn't.

“This is not a matter of shame but a matter of consent. You have to be fully conscious to give it, and as you certainly were not, I have therefore violated you.” 

She sloppily waved her hand. “Hmmm don't worry about it. You'll forget about it anyway.” 

This was his chance. 

“Oh? And why would I?” 

“Because you have to. I will make sure you do.” She let her head fall back against his shoulder. “But you keep coming back. Just stop that, okay? I mean I liked this but it's not good, you know? It would be the death of me – possibly quite literally!” She winced at her own loud voice and let out another stifled groan, her grip on his hands loosening. 

So she was the one doing the erasing, after all. Pain shot simultaneously through his heart and mind. 

But he kept his voice soft, honey-smooth syllables dripping from his silver tongue. “How many times have you done that before?” 

“Hmm I don't know. Seven or eight times I think, maybe nine, I really don't know. I don't want to keep counting.” 

She sighed again, taking one hand off of his and moving it over the surface, her callused yet elegant fingers causing the trails of soap to swirl; and her next words were spoken so quietly that it almost seemed as if clarity had found her again. 

“I wish I didn't have to.” 

She turned around in his arms and wrapped her own around him, her body trembling the tiniest bit. 

“I wish I was allowed to love you.”

And before he could ask why she wasn't she pressed her lips against his and touched him with her magic, let her longing wash over him, let her love reach him as her fingers moved up his neck to come to rest upon his jaw. It was too much for him to be surprised and he answered more than eagerly, almost desperately, as he felt all of it resonate with the longing and love that resided within him. He kissed her and kissed her until her lips were no longer enough and soon his tongue found hers and his hands on the small of her back held her close, bodies pressed flush beneath the soap-dyed water. Oh how he loved her, he loved her he loved her he loved her, 

and yet he had no idea who she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Want to speed up the uploading schedule? Keep an eye on the [Fǫruneyti Tumblr](https://foruneyti.tumblr.com/)!


	3. 2

He held her in his embrace as she cried for a little while, then helped her out of the basin and over to the toilet where she emptied her stomach more than once. He kept her hair pulled back and rubbed soothing circles over her spine. 

She had brought it upon herself, the hangover; but she grunted curses at every deity she could think of and a few of whom he was pretty sure had been entirely made up by her intoxicated brain. Should he accompany her to the Healer's Wing or would she rather not be seen with him? 

His heart ached. _Tell me_ , he wanted to beg her, _Tell me who you were to me, what I was to you. Tell me why we are this way, why you made me forget._

But one glance at her face, at the miserable expression on it, and he knew it would be cruel. Whatever it was that had put her – both of them – in this situation weighed heavy on her. The bruises on her chest, the bags beneath her eyes, he knew the cause now – he had felt how much she suffered when her magic had enveloped him. How much she suffered because of him. 

Did she know about his arranged marriage? Was that hurting her, too? Seeing the man she loved leave her, the woman who he did not remember, to marry one he had never met? His chest clenched tight. He did not want to marry some foreign princess, he didn't want to strengthen the peace the two neighbouring kingdoms already possessed – not if it cost him the only woman he had ever truly felt for.  
He remembered a time where he had not particularly been against being sent off, as the only people he had cared about were his mother and his brother who he could go and see whenever he wished. There was nothing else he would have minded leaving behind. But then something had changed, and the idea of traveling to Yllgard had suddenly enraged him – was that when she had come into his life? 

Searing hot pain shot through his head. It always did whenever he tried to remember something that was simply not there to remember. So many hours lost, so many days; had he spent them with her? Had he spent them thinking about her? Touching her? Kissing her? Loving her? He groaned and brought his hand to his forehead, eyes pressed tightly shut. He wanted to solve this mystery, wanted to find out what in the Nine was going on, but how could he when his brain barely allowed it? 

“I d-don't want to go.” 

He turned his attention back to her and returned his hand from his face to between her shoulder blades, offering comfort. She was crying again. Endless tears streaming and streaming, making him wonder how they hadn't left permanent trails yet; and oh how it hurt him to see her like this. To see her like this, and to know that he stood at the centre of it all. Did she remember all those hours and days that missed from his mind? Did she remember the time they spent together, the time they spent in love? He wanted to know so desperately, wanted to ask her everything, wanted her to tell him.  
Did others know? He squinted, remembering the warning Thor had given him last night at the masquerade. 

_“Leave her alone, Loki.”_

He had meant her specifically. That bastard knew, didn't he? Rage shot through him and he was only just able to keep his fist from tightening in her hair, the realisation quickly putting a damper on his fury and bringing forth the worry again. He had to keep in mind that he was not the one who was suffering the most. 

She wiped her mouth and grunted in disgust, straightening her back though her trembling hand still held onto the toilet. With a flick of his magic he handed her a glass of water, his fingers loosening and letting her locks fall back over her bare shoulders, and while she downed the liquid he made her dress and mask appear as well. 

“Please-” 

He took the glass from her before it could slip through her fingers and shatter on the bathroom floor-

“Please don't make me go?” 

The desperation in her eyes and everything else, too; it killed him. But he had to let her go. 

“I'm sorry.” 

It was the only thing he could say, his voice soft and remorseful, but he silently promised her he would do everything in his power to make this right. He would stop her pain, stop her agony. He would find out what had happened and he would love her again. And, hopefully, she would be able to love him, too. 

“I...” But she shook her head. “No. You're right. I should go.” It seemed the alcohol was beginning to wear off.

And as soon as she began to push herself up he offered her his arm and kept her steady. He helped her into her dress, only now noticing how it hid her bruises perfectly. Had she chosen the design for that specific reason? Was she hiding it from everyone else, too? Would that mean they did not know? Or was she merely convinced it was better if she suffered in silence, so that she wouldn't worry those she cared for? By the Realms this woman was a mystery in so many ways, and though it intrigued him, it frustrated him just as much. 

But he knew, he just knew, that he would do anything to get her back. 

He held up her mask, his pale fingers a stark contrast against the dark scales. They felt... real. Where had she gotten scales like this? He searched his memory for any kind of lizard that it could have come from but he was unable to find anything, not to mention that the scales along the edges seemed too big-

Her fingers brushed over his as she took it from him. He squinted, studied her face. “What creature does your mask represent?” 

She smiled but it was empty, mirthless; perhaps even hateful. 

“The worst of them all.”

He knew not to ask further. So instead he offered her his hand and she took it, let him escort her to the doors that offered entry to the rest of his palace, and once the two of them stood before the gold he could feel his soul protest. Let her stay, it beseeched him; let her stay and keep her safe.  
But he let go of her hand. 

“So this is when you make me forget, then.” He didn't ask it as much as stated it, his eyes locked with hers, and she nodded. 

“I have no choice.” 

“But why not? Why can you not tell me? Let me help you, let me get you out of this. I have magic and power and wealth; there is little I could not accomplish with it all. Please, my love-” 

There he went again, proclaiming his love for a woman of whom he didn't even know her name. 

“Really, Loki; If this was something that could be solved I wouldn't have done all of this. I would never- I-I can't-” She inhaled deeply, shakily. “Please understand that there is no other option or I would have chosen that path a long time ago. It's best if you don't remember. It... It won't hurt that way.”

Disbelief, frustration, confusion; what was he to feel first? 

“But it hurts you; does that not matter? Do you think I care about a bit of pain?” He set a step towards her but she set a step back and his heart contracted. “Please, let me help. Return my memories and explain to me why you are forced to do all of this. You do not know how desperately I want you to be happy-” 

“Can't you see that this isn't the way to do that?” She flinched once more because of her own volume and made sure her voice was softer when she continued. “I can't have you back and yes, that hurts; it hurts more than you can imagine, but seeing you in pain -” She shook her head. “You remembering everything would solve nothing, it would only make it worse; for both of us. I just-” 

Her knees began to wobble and if it hadn't been for his quick reflexes she would have fallen. It wasn't because of the alcohol. 

“What is wrong, are you ill? Is that why you made me forget?” Fear now rushed through his veins as he held her close, held her standing. “If that's the case then I will go to the ends of the universe to find you a cure-” 

“I'm not ill, I'm not – I'm just... I'm just so exhausted.” She let out a heavy sigh. She had no other option than to lean into him, to let him wrap his arms around her. “Please, Loki. If you care for me, and I know you do, please let me take your memories.” 

He hesitated still. He did not want to accept that there was no other way. He would do anything, _anything_ ; lying, deceit, trickery, treason – all of it and more. And so he did. 

“All right.” He loosened his grip on her, and when she searched his green-blue eyes for affirmation he nodded. “Take my memories.” 

She nodded, too. “It is best if you lay down; I wouldn't want for you to pass out and fall.” 

They walked to his bed where he obeyed her command. It still smelled like her, sweet and alluring. The feeling of her skin beneath his hands and his lips on hers, the sounds they had made, it played inside his head as if he wanted to experience it one last time before forgetting it all. But she brought her hand to cup his cheek, her magic already swirling invisibly around her fingers.  
He could feel the almost gentle caress before it grew stronger, suddenly shooting into his head and delving deeper, enveloping, pulling, almost painfully.

His eyes fell shut. 

 

 

 

 

 

He waited for her to be gone. Patience, patience, holding back the urge to follow her immediately. He hated himself for lying to her, for ignoring her pleas, but he just couldn't accept it – there must be another way. If only he knew the source of this all. 

But, if his plan worked, it wouldn't take him long to find out. 

He had to be careful, however. She believed he did not remember her, and so he would have to act that way: he would have to keep his distance and his eyes averted, however difficult it may prove to be. It would be worth it, he reasoned with himself; the deceit, the trickery. Her happiness, and possibly that of his own, would be worth all of it. 

After another moment of simply breathing in her lingering scent he pushed himself up and stood. _Take_ the memories, she had said; not _erase_ them. He had given her worthless ones, had diverted her magic to keep them away from those he wanted to keep. For as far as his knowledge went on the subject of cognitive magic she had no way of reading the memories she had taken, not without the right object, and so she wouldn't realise his betrayal. 

But if she did not destroy them then she would either have to carry them with her or leave them somewhere else; and as, for as far as he knew, keeping them was impossible, she needed to be in possession of an object that could absorb her magic. An object to store his memories in. If that same object allowed her to see them, then he might be found out sooner than he had hoped.  
But he would improvise if it should even come to that. Objects to store magic in were uncommon enough on their own, and one specifically designed for showing captured memories were so rare that most did not even know of their existence. 

Still, the sooner he found out what was going on the sooner he would be able to help her; so, now that the hot white pain had left his head and his goal was clear, he moved swiftly. 

Time was of the essence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and supporting me!


	4. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Recommended music. Please listen to this one song called café on repeat!](https://open.spotify.com/track/5Iw4TEtfVTu14zZRlQsgiN?si=KGva_K5VSQuxcwnhswAeBg)

Why did she have to be so incredibly stupid? She had known she was going to regret this and yet she still went to the damned ball and drank more than the limits she had set herself. Did she want to get caught?  
Her eyes scanned the halls restlessly as she quickly traversed the palace to get back to the Healer's Wing, her head pounding and the light still too harsh, the sound of her own footsteps too loud. If Odin heard she had been intimate with his son again, how could she explain herself? Being drunk was no excuse, not even a weak one. 

And not even Frigga would be able to protect her. 

As soon as the door to her room came into sight she swung it open and locked it behind her, resting her back to it.  
As if a golden slab of metal could offer her any kind of protection.  
But she pushed the thought aside and quickly changed into her high-waisted pants and short-sleeve blouse, because time kept on passing and the world kept on existing and people kept on living; people that needed her help, people she needed to tend to. It was the only thing she could still find solace in. 

So she brushed her hair and made herself presentable, hid the smell of her sweat with the perfume Dagny had given her. Her friend would know, of course; would be aware that she hadn't come back last night. She would give her that worried glance and offer her shoulder to cry on, her ears to listen. And it would be difficult to hold back the tears.  
How she wanted to be comforted, to cry until she would no longer be able to, to smile and know everything would be all right in the end. 

_“Please, let me help. Return my memories and explain to me why you are forced to do all of this. You do not know how desperately I want you to be happy.”_

But she couldn't be happy, not truly, not soon; it would take her years to learn how to do that again. Loki, however... If he forgot her, if he married and fell in love with the foreign princess, then _he_ could find happiness again. He could live his life to the fullest. And it didn't matter that it seemed to rip her soul apart because he would be happy and she would _know_ that, she would be able to make peace with that; and then she, too, could continue to live her life. 

If she survived until then. 

 

 

\--

 

 

First he would have to find out what her profession was. Searching for her magic was not an option as she would feel it, and asking around was out of the question, too. But the palace was massive and his time was limited. Where to start?  
He did not need to search the Servant's Quarters, as she had been allowed to attend the masquerade, but there were still many options left. Was she a tutor of some kind? A soldier? A Valkyrie in training? Perhaps a seamstress, or a craftswoman, or an artist. A musician? A playwright? Or a healer? His soul gave a tug that resembled familiarity, and he raised his eyebrows. Healer, then? 

He trusted his instinct enough to consider that matter settled.

Should he ask Thor what he was hiding? His brother seemed to know what was going on and any snippet of information could help him reach his goal. But what if Thor betrayed him? What if that idiot, too, believed that it was for the best if he forgot about her? He couldn't risk it.  
Then how about her friends he had seen at the ball? The doe and the bear. The masks would make it difficult for him as he had seen only part of their faces and hadn't even paid attention to them, his mind set far too intently on the woman who had danced without restraint, and who had looked at him without fear. The chances of him finding them were slim. Then the only option left was to take the direct approach: 

infiltration. 

 

 

–

 

 

She couldn't stop looking at the door; not while working on preparing medicine and not while aiding the patients and customers that came by. Baerne had taken the task of checking up on those in the sickbay upon himself and Dagny had, after giving her the exact pitiful look she had expected, left to tend to the conservatory, as she knew she appreciated the solitude. 

Yet, right now, she needed them. She needed the distraction that came with their presence. 

Luckily, after the last patient had gone, no others arrived and she saw her chance to slip away for a while; to do what must be done but what she never looked forward to. She couldn't postpone it much longer: the foreign memory already began to itch inside her mind, weighing heavier and heavier with every minute as her brain refused to accept it. It wasn't hers, after all. 

So she scanned her surroundings, made sure no one was around, and left through the glass door that lead to the garden; past the herbs, past the rows of medicinal flowers and trimmed bushes, and into the woods, all the while preparing for the physical and mental pain that was to come. 

 

 

\--

 

 

He took on the appearance of a servant, allowing him to walk freely wherever he wished. He knew the palace like the back of his hand – almost every corner and every nook, every hidden door and every secret passageway. Places no one even knew existed, he was aware of them. And so, finding his way to the Healer's Wing took him not even the slightest effort. He could teleport, of course, but it brought risks that he rather not take; so he continued walking clad in the brown-and-creme outfit that roused no suspicion and with a face that none would recognise.

It wasn't long, however, before he spotted six men of Odin's guard; apparently going in the exact same direction as him. 

He squinted, eyebrows knitting together as he watched them. What were they doing here? What business did they have in the Healer's Wing?  
Then his eyes widened and his hands clenched into fists. Odin had something to do with this, hadn't he? It would be no surprise; it was as if the old tyrant had had years of training in the art of making people miserable. If he was behind all of this, if he was the source of all their suffering, of all _her_ suffering – oh, he could feel the murderous rage begin to boil his blood. 

But he didn't have time for that right now. He pushed it back, buried it, locked it up so it wouldn't cloud his judgment or make him act reckless. He couldn't fail; not this time. 

So he quickly shifted his appearance to match the guards and silently joined them as they passed. 

 

 

\--

 

 

She loved the landscape around the palace; the fields and the heath occasionally interrupting the woods that covered the uneven terrain, the lakes and the streams that none ever visited. It was peaceful. Welcoming. The deeper she went the more she could imagine herself to be close to home; that soon she would be able to glance down through the trees and into the vale that kept Blacktree safe. That she would see them all again, going about their day, smiling, happy, unhurt.  
But her goal was only a short walk away, and she had no time for childish fantasies.

She was the only one who knew about the old oak that stood in the middle of the clearing, its trunk thicker than the arms of six men could envelop and its branches reaching high up towards the heavens; as if it tried to mimic Yggdrasil and stretch throughout the universe. It was ancient, no doubt, and so beautiful it had made her lungs forget how to breathe the first time she had laid eyes upon it. It was what had made her choose this location in the first place. 

But she had difficulty leaving the tree line and stepping out into the open. The itch inside her mind was another part of Loki she had taken, _stolen_ , and though it weighed heavy it was still a part of him she carried.  
It was never easy. 

Inhale, exhale; inhale, exhale. Steady the beat of her heart, ease the muscles of her shoulders. It was okay; his love for her would live on, though not in him. 

She set the first step, then the second, closer and closer to the massive tree that seemed to whisper to her. Tears already began to fall. Another step, and another, until she stood so close she could lay her forehead against its bark - but her legs gave in before she could and she sank onto her knees.  
Its large roots seemed to shield her, cradle her as she lay in their embrace, and she could imagine dying there. The prospect seemed peaceful. Was that what she would ask of her friends, when her time would come? _'Lay me beneath the ancient oak, so that my soul may be reunited with the memories of the man I once loved'?_

The itch grew stronger and stronger, heavier and heavier. Holding onto it was futile. So she lay her palm against the tree, rested her side and cheek against the rough texture, and closed her eyes as she forced the foreign memory from her mind; bearing the torture that came with it. 

 

 

\--

 

 

The guards nearly burst into the atrium, startling the man that had just come from one of the infirmary halls. 

“Where's the woman with the gold-speckled eyes?” Not a polite question but a command, and the addressed man almost trembled because of the force with which it was spoken. 

He pointed at the glass door leading to the garden. “Out into the woods. Always straight through the trees; she can't have gone too far-” 

But before the healer had even finished his sentence the soldiers turned and crossed the room, wasting no time whatsoever.  
Worry and fear rushed through his veins. They were here for her – was she in danger? He couldn't reveal himself yet; he knew nothing that could help and had no clue as to why they were summoning her. He still needed to find that object too, but he hadn't felt anything in the adjoining chambers. 

He followed the men who were too set on their tasks to notice the extra guard amongst them, followed them as they crossed the garden and strode into the woods, further and further -

until they reached a clearing, and he saw her lying against the massive oak in the centre. 

He quickly stepped to the side and hid behind another tree, his magic washing over him to return his physique to normal. He barely dared to glance past the trunk, to see her lying there, shoulders shocking as her pained cries softly mixed with the sounds of the forest; but he had to. Why was she crying? And why, here, specifically? Did this tree hold meaning to her? 

“King Odin requests your presence.” 

She slowly retracted her hand, used it to push herself away from the trunk, but she did not answer. Maybe she couldn't. The highest in rank set another step towards her, and repeated his announcement in a louder fashion. Loki wanted to step out and knock them all unconscious, wanted to hold her and protect her for whatever malicious intent Odin bore this time, yet she already moved to stand; her eyes red and her shoulders still shaking. And, without an ounce of resistance, she complied. 

 

He stayed hidden as they passed, and just when he was about to follow again he felt it – the gentle hum of magic. He slowly turned his head back towards the oak in the centre of the clearing. It couldn't be, could it? His eyes shot from the tree to the silhouettes disappearing in the distance and back. Danger, his soul seemed to scream at him; _danger_. She needed his help. 

But how could he help her if he did not even know what was wrong? 

So he waited for the last guard to be out of sight before quickly trotting over to the source. He had never heard of anything living being used as a storage for stolen memories, but he couldn't remember reading if anyone had ever tried in the first place. When he saw this massive oak, however, it made sense; with time came power, and so it must have been perfect. 

Were... were all the memories she took – were they in there? He reached out with his magic, careful, almost hesitant, but to his relief felt the familiarity of his own being, his own entirety, resonate back at him. She truly hadn't erased them. 

Now another problem arose. If he touched the bark, if he let the memories return to where they once sat, he would experience them all over again – weeks and weeks he had gone through, innumerable conversations, emotions, actions – all in a matter of seconds. Would he be able to stay conscious? Would he be able to stand, to walk, without blacking out? Would he even _survive_ such a blow to his mind? 

But he didn't have a choice, did he? 

 

His gaze grew determined, 

and he lay his hand against the trunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end.


	5. 0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Please listen to the track 'Danny' by Ólafur Arnalds on repeat.](https://open.spotify.com/track/73wrBesCAOcuDSzFIANdcK?si=fhvDoQPvRF-OFpMpms0gRg)

He stared down at her from atop his throne but she couldn't meet his gaze. She knew this was her fault. 

“I was told that you were seen leaving my son's quarters again.” 

Oh how she tried not to flinch at the booming intensity of his voice, or at the deeply rooted fury within it; but how could she possibly keep her heart calm? How could she possibly stop her hands from trembling? 

“Is this true?” 

She lifted her eyes, not to the king but to his wife – and what she saw broke her heart even further: pain, frustration, sadness, defeat. It was over. She had messed it up and there was no one who could save her now. 

“It is, Your Majesty.”

“And you thought I would not hear about it? You have broken your promise, have violated our agreement-” 

“If I may speak, Your Majesty, i-it's hard-”

“ **You may certainly not!** How **dare** you interrupt me! After everything I have done for you. I have allowed you to stay here, work here, and this is how you repay me? By ignoring my orders?”

She wanted to cry but no matter how much her heart contracted, no matter how fiercely her nose tingled and her soul stung, no tears would come. 

“Please, Your Highness, this is all I have left-” 

“And you ruined it yourself.” He nearly spat the words at her.

“Please, my beloved. You know that this is hard for her, that she is suffering-”

“It is of her own doing.” He hadn't taken his good eye off of her, the other one menacingly hidden behind a golden patch, and though his voice dropped in volume the hatred only intensified. “I should have never given you refuge in the first place. Your kind is not welcome here, nor anywhere else. You are a breed of liars and brutes and bring nothing but destruction and calamity.” 

A few seconds of silence that lasted an eternity. Then: 

“I hereby banish you into exile.” 

Her heart stopped beating. 

“You will be granted no shelter nor protection in my kingdom. Everyone who aids you will be regarded a traitor to the crown and shall be punished accordingly.” 

“My beloved-”

“If you are ever to return or to reestablish contact with my sons I will order my guards to attack on sight. You have three days to leave.” 

And then the tears came. 

No, please-  
She had lost it all again. She had lost _everything_. Three days to say goodbye to her frequenting patients, to her friends - to Baerne, to Dagny, to Brant, to Thor. Three last days, after which she would never see Loki again. The lump in her throat choked her, the pressure and pain in her chest burned the heart out of her and it hurt, it _hurt_.  
But maybe he was right. A bitter smile tugged at her lips as the water kept streaming down her face and dripping off her chin. Maybe he was right, and she did not deserve to belong anywhere. She did not deserve to _live_. 

And maybe she didn't want to, anymore. 

Blacktree was gone. Her parents and youth were burned to the ground and she had killed her only hope for answers. The only man she had ever loved did not remember her. She would need to abandon the new life she had built for herself, her new bonds; she would have to live with the weight of all those memories and know that she would never find anything like this again. There was nothing left to live for. Nothing that could make it right. 

“No.” Her voice quivered, strained, hurt her throat, but she repeated the word again and louder this time. “No.” 

“I beg you pardon?”

“I said no. I cannot live with this and I cannot live without this. I cannot live either way. If this is to be my fate, if I am to be exiled, then grant me one last mercy. Grant me one last mercy and _kill me_.” 

Frigga clasped a hand over her mouth and she could see tears form in her eyes, too. Her adoptive mother, almost, after all the time they had spent together. Oh how she loved her with all her heart. But she couldn't do this, not anymore – the shards were too thin, too fragile for love so strong, for love that belonged to so many people. She was nothing but an empty shell, something one could crush in the palm of one's hand. An empty shell full of painful memories. 

“Please, just kill me. I cannot live and hear about Loki falling in love with someone else. I cannot live and hear about what is happening to my friends without being able to be there for them. I cannot live like this, I j-just can't. Take my life and end my misery. Make sure Loki does not remember me and be kind to him for once – show him that the world can be kind to him. Give him a- a chance.” She wiped at her face but it was useless, useless just like her. “The only people I care for are in your care. I beg of you to be merciful to them too, to be patient with them.” 

A sob so loud and ugly she couldn't help but laugh, but it morphed into a soft cry of agony before a second had passed. 

“Maybe this is how i-it's supposed to end. A dragon, slain by a king.” 

Everyone watched without making a sound. 

“I had my joy; I am grateful that the universe allowed me to experience it. But everything comes to an end.” 

A last smile at Frigga, whose face was just as tear-stained as hers. 

“Its o-okay-” The trembling of her body made it hard to speak. “T-thank you f-for everything you have done for me, my queen. My life was one worth living. I do not regret loving your son, and if there should be an afterlife I will cherish the memories I have made with him forevermore. I never thought-” 

Her throat clenched shut and her legs failed to support her, her knees giving in and finding the golden floor. 

“Stop this madness, Odin – this is not how it should end, this is not – please _stop_ this!” The queen pleaded him through her sobbing but his cold stare didn't change. 

“The girl has asked for this. It is a final favour I will grant her.” 

A flick of his finger and one of the guards stepped forward, the sound of metal over metal resonating through the throne room as he pulled his sword. He seemed almost ethereal in the light flooding through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the gold shining and beaming like a soothing whisper before a last breath. She had never imagined death to be so beautiful. 

 

The man raised his sword, and she closed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IHLM continues in a separate work, thank you for reading!


End file.
